


bitten off

by darkcity



Category: Chikara (Professional Wrestling), Professional Wrestling
Genre: Inadvisable Hook-ups, M/M, Negging, Rival Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:13:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29547750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkcity/pseuds/darkcity
Summary: So Chuck hooked up with Fire Ant while they were drunk, whatever. It's not a big deal. To him, at least.
Relationships: Fire Ant/Chuck Taylor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 26





	bitten off

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i don't fucking know. i don't have any explanation for this except that it will appeal to like 4 people who i've discussed this concept with. it DOESN'T make sense. oh well!!

“Shit,” Chuck groans, before his eyes are even open, more of a reflex than anything else. He's actually only lightly hungover this morning, a dry mouth and a faint tightness in his head — a 4/10 on his hangover gauge. But his brain gets a few seconds to boot up and he’s saying, “shit,” again, because he's got a different problem anyway — that familiar, vague guilt after a night out, when he knows he's done something he regrets, even if he's not sure what it is.

He reaches blindly for the water bottle on his nightstand, glugging from it and racking his brain to find out what he did this time. He hates this part of the morning, flicking through memories of the night before and knowing it's gonna end somewhere bad. The first thing he remembers is _$3 beer + shot_ written in chalk behind a bar, so yeah. Off to a bad start. He can't remember the name of the place, something Irish sounding, but it was him and Icarus and Gargano. And Kodama and Obariyon and Mantis and some other guys on the roster. A lot actually — the kind of town with only one place open that late. Even some tecnicos were there.

Even _Fire Ant_ was there. Chuck couldn’t believe it, had to walk over to him just to make sure it was real. Gargano tried to stop him, probably thinking he was gonna break a bottle over Fire's head and get arrested or something. But Chuck didn’t do that, didn't hit Fire at all actually. He just asked him if Soldier knew he was out past his curfew, and then pointed at the pale yellow drink in his hand and told him he didn’t know ants drank piss.

“It’s _wine_ ,” Fire told him, “because _I_ take care of my body.”

“Well, what's the fucking point,” Chuck said, “if you're all covered up in the ring anyway. How do I know you're not hiding a beer belly under there, huh,” then shoved his hand up Fire’s shirt. Okay, bad. Unfortunately all he was hiding under there was a pretty sweet set of abs, and Chuck got a little caught up in the feeling of taut muscle under his fingers until Fire squirmed and shoved him away. “Shit, Fire. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d hit on you right now.” Okay, also bad.

Did Fire punch him after that? He should’ve. But he just kept drinking his piss-wine. He drank a lot of it, actually, probably because Chuck refused to leave him alone. He couldn’t help it, the idea of his rival getting drunk and acting stupid and embarrassing himself was too tempting. Except Fire didn’t really do any of that. The worst he did was get a little unsteady on his feet, Chuck having to catch him before he wiped out on the floor once or twice. If Fire was gonna wipe out, Chuck was gonna be the one to make him do it.

It gets fuzzy after that. Chuck doesn’t know what happened to Icarus and Gargano, but he probably told them to fuck off at some point, like he always did after 6 drinks. He kept waiting for Fire to tell _him_ to fuck off, or just… leave, but he never did. If Chuck hadn’t been several beer-and-shot combos deep, he’d have thought it was weird, how Fire kept hanging around, letting Chuck talk his ear off with insults and requests for him to pop his shirt off. He was still bitchy the whole time, too, acting like someone was forcing him to stay there.

“I hate you,” he said at one point, completely unprompted.

“Yeah, okay,” Chuck scoffed. “You're a lot more attractive when you don't talk, y'know.” Fire gave him a pissy little scowl for that and Chuck grinned, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Hey, it’s cool, I know something _way_ better you could do with your mouth.”

Then Fire jerked him off in the bathroom— wait.

Fire went to the bathroom, yeah, and Chuck followed him in, yeah, as a joke. Threw out some line about getting Chikara's Hottest Property alone in a room. It was good. Fire was embarrassed. Chuck brought up his abs again. It was funny.

Then Fire shoved him into a stall, and locked the door and undid Chuck’s fly and stuck his hand down his shorts. And Chuck was drunk and not about to violate his strict moral code of never stopping someone from touching his dick. So Fire buried his face in his neck and started working him tight and fast, and Chuck leaned back, closed his eyes, and let him. It was a hand on his dick, he wasn’t gonna complain.

And maybe there was something about fucking into his rival’s fist — the most tightlaced, fun-hating tecnico in the promotion, jerking off Chuckie T in a filthy bathroom stall — that kinda did it for him.

His headache’s doubled now but his dick still twitches at the memory, like it hasn't done enough already. He's _not_ gonna jerk off about this. Letting it happen was one thing — it's really Fire who should be embarrassed about that part, which is a comforting thought, actually. Fire’s the one who did all the work, ended up with jizz all over his fingers, and Chuck didn't even return the favor, barely touched him aside from a hand up the front of his shirt and his other hand clenched in the back of it. He was gracious enough to let Fire rock his hips up against his thigh, though, and maybe that was enough for him. Maybe he came right in his stupid little skinny jeans, just like that.

Or maybe the whole thing never happened.

He drags himself over to the bathroom and gets a shower going, muscle memory turning the taps before he thinks better of it and sighs, turning them cold instead. He tries not to look in the mirror while he strips down, but a flash of color catches his eye and then he has to. It’s a big, glaring bruise on his neck, bright pink and dark red and way too high up for him to cover.

Jesus, Fire’s a freak.

\--

“I don't know what's more surprising,” Icarus says the next day, in the locker room. “The fact that you got laid, or the fact that you found someone fuckable in that place.”

Chuck feels his face heating up, wondering if Icarus saw him follow Fire into the bathroom, or maybe even walked in to take a piss while he and Fire were… in the stall. But he looks up to find Icarus's eyes glued to his neck, and then he remembers what's there.

“C'mon, man, it's Chuck,” Gargano says. “Everyone's fuckable to him.”

“Alright, yeah, make fun of me for getting laid,” Chuck says flatly. “Good one, I'm so embarrassed about getting my dick wet. Fuckin' mortifying.”

“Seriously, Gargano, look at this thing,” Icarus says, turning Chuck by his shoulders so Gargano can inspect his neck.

“Shit, that looks vicious,” he says. “You fuck a vampire or something?”

“Or a high schooler—”

“— oh yeah, did you fuck a high schooler? That’s kinda messed up, bro—”

“ _Not_ a high schooler, Jesus,” Chuck cuts them off. “ _Or_ a vampire, shut up. She was... super hot, actually.”

“Hope so,” Gargano says, sounding unconvinced. “Seems like she really liked you.”

Chuck doesn't think about that during their match, because… _gross_. But he does think about how the Colony has a match right after theirs, and maybe he's a little more hasty in leaving the ring than usual. Normally he'd take his time parading around afterwards, win or loss, thanking the fans who love him and explaining to the ones who don't why they should.

But he considers the slim possibility of running into Fire and he’s booking it to the locker room the second the bell rings. He can’t even imagine how it’d play out — Fire being super awkward about it and running away, or maybe attacking him, or maybe the whole Colony attacking him — but he gets the feeling it wouldn’t go well for him.

One of his shirts is gone when he gets back to the locker room, rifling through his bag. It's just one of his own merch shirts — the dumb PBR logo one — but still. Those cost money to get printed, and he doesn’t get much of that back.

\--

Chuck’s got a week to himself until his next match, which he spends drinking and training and drinking and forgetting about the whole thing with Fire. Unfortunately the match is against the Colony, which has him uneasy that morning, but at least his hickey’s faded. All evidence gone, like that night never happened.

And that’s exactly how he plans to operate — he doesn’t know how Fire’s breath feels against his neck or how his hand feels around his dick. All he knows is that he hates Fire Ant and Fire Ant hates him. They have a match and FIST is gonna kick the Colony’s ass. That’s it.

He stays in the ring to start the match, bouncing on his feet and waiting to see who’ll start from the Colony. Soldier and Fire have some sort of exchange, and Soldier raises his hands placatingly, turning his head towards Chuck sharply. Chuck looks away, ignoring their weird ant drama in favor of showing off for the audience, posing and reminding them of how great he is.

Bizarrely, there’s a girl in the front row who’s _smiling_ at him, and miraculously, she’s actually kind of hot. Chuck nods at her, throwing out a wink and his best leer. The bell rings, but the girl’s still looking right at him and she’s blushing now, so Chuck keeps the eye contact going and flexes his bicep for her, feeling extra generous. She gets kind of wide-eyed all of a sudden, which is cute, and—

The breath’s knocked out of his chest and he’s on his back, fists raining down on him. He catches a flash of red and yellow before he gets his forearms up, blocking his face while Fire straddles his lap and pummels him in a very un-Fire-like way. He’s too small for it to really be an effective mode of attack, but he manages to get some good hits in while Chuck’s still trying to process what’s going on, before he’s coming back to himself and throwing Fire off his lap easily. Fire falls back towards his corner, Soldier reaching down for a blind tag before he can pick himself back up.

Soldier’s coming towards him, but now Green Ant’s gesturing wildly at Fire, and Fire’s stomping his foot, and Chuck’s getting floored by a fucking clothesline. Jesus. He shakes himself, putting the whole weird display out of his head, focusing on knocking Soldier on his ass and biting his stupid antennae off.

But it’s weird. It’s a weird fucking start to the match and it throws Chuck off for the whole thing, and that’s the only reason he doesn’t make it in time to break Green Ant’s pin on Icarus.

Chuck ends up lingering outside the ring for a while after the match, mostly because he already feels dumb as hell and isn’t in the mood to get chewed out by Icarus and Gargano in the locker room. And maybe he just feels better being in a room full of people until he can be reasonably sure the Colony’s left the building.

When he finally makes his way back to the locker room, his asshole friends are gone, but of course his shit luck’s as relentless as ever, so... fucking Fire Ant’s there instead, still in his gear, leaning against the lockers and looking even pissier than usual, his arms folded over his chest and his foot tapping against the floor, like he’s been waiting. Waiting to ambush Chuck maybe, while there are no witnesses around, or — worse — waiting to _talk_.

Chuck nods jerkily in his direction, aiming for nonchalant and probably missing by a mile.

“What are you doing,” Fire says.

“Uh, taking a shower,” Chuck tells him. “What, you wanna come?” he adds, laughing, just to freak Fire out a little, make him feel half as uncomfortable as he does. Maybe that’ll scare him off, get —him to stop acting so goddamn weird and leave Chuck alone so they can both pretend their stupid drunk hook-up never happened. Fire doesn’t say anything, or do anything, though, just stands there while Chuck gets his towel and clothes out cagily, feeling his eyes on him. He stalls for a few seconds, not wanting to strip down in the locker room, like some awkward middle schooler in gym class. The thought pisses him off and he huffs, dropping his towel and straightening up, ready to tell Fire Ant to fuck off already.

“Whoa,” he says instead, because Fire’s closed the distance between them while he was staring at the lockers, and then he’s pressing his whole body up against Chuck’s. “Whoa, I didn’t actually—” Fire makes a noise like a soft growl and tips his head against Chuck’s shoulder, reaching out to toy at his waistband. “ _Jesus_ — anyone could walk in, dude,” he hisses. Fire gives a half-shrug, which is insane. He’s probably got a concussion or something. His fingers start to dip inside his tights and Chuck grabs his wrist, yanking it away and backing up against the lockers. “Seriously, you psycho, we can't just—” but Fire drops to his knees, and, “shit, okay, yeah.”

So he hooks up with Fire again. Whatever. It’s worth it to have his rival on his knees in front of him, sucking his dick _literally_ , which Chuck’s probably yelled at him to do about 10 times in the ring.

Fire really _is_ a freak, because he takes him deep and doesn’t even complain when Chuck gets a hand behind his head and starts rocking his hips forward. Chuck doesn’t want to think about how he got like this, if he’s been going out maskless on the weekends and hooking up with strangers, or having weird ant orgies with the rest of the Colony back at the Hill. 

It’s easy not to worry about all that with his dick buried in Fire’s throat, feeling his little muffled noises around his length. He pulls out to swipe the head across Fire’s lips a few times, testing how far he can go, mostly expecting Fire to jerk away or finally leave. Instead, he just stays kneeling there, tilting his head back and mouthing gingerly at Chuck’s length while it slides over his lips. Chuck wants to mock him for it, for being so easy and so slutty and so shameless, but his brain’s busy shortcircuiting at the image.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he breathes, pushing back into Fire’s mouth and cradling his head again, and Fire hums, sounding pleased. “Real good,” he adds, “y'know, for a fucking nerd,” and Fire grunts and takes him deeper, like he's trying to prove something. It’s crazy. Fire’s fucking crazy.

He doesn't warn Fire before he comes, obviously. It's way more fun to just do it, his hand still tight on the back of his head, feeling his throat pulse while he takes it and makes a whiny little noise around his dick. Chuck rides it out in his hot mouth for a minute and then finally lets go, Fire yanking his head away to cough and sputter while he catches his breath.

“Sorry,” Chuck tells him, grinning, not even trying to sound like he means it, “c’mere.” Fire gets to his feet shakily, leaning into his space. Leaning too much, his lips slightly parted, so Chuck has to shove his face to the side before he does something stupid.

The bulge in his gear looks ridiculous, and Chuck knows from experience how uncomfortable it is to have a boner while wearing tights. So he leaves Fire's on, grabbing him through the material roughly and getting a strangled moan out of him. Fire shakes against him, bucking into his hand, moaning too loud in the locker room until he latches onto Chuck’s throat and muffles his noises. It doesn't take him long, just a minute or two before he's tensing up and clinging to Chuck, teeth digging into his neck. Chuck palms at him for a few more seconds, getting a squeaky noise out of Fire and smirking, imagining how oversensitive he must feel with jizz and a fading boner inside his tights.

He lets Fire go, having to sort of shove him away because he’s still weakly clinging to Chuck, panting against his neck. Fire stands there while he gathers his towel and clothes, and licks his lips after a few seconds, like he’s about to say something. Chuck cuts him off with a slap on his ass, muttering _thanks_ and heading to the showers.

He feels remarkably chill about the whole thing until he’s back home, in the bathroom, and catches his reflection. Another hickey. Fuck, this is insane. Fire Ant just blew him in the locker room and gave him a hickey— _another_ hickey. It’s insane, and then he’s missing another shirt when he goes to empty his gym bag into the hamper, and he wonders if he’s just fucking losing it.

\--

He resolves that weekend to get laid, have sex with a normal person, a normal _woman_ , ideally. Gargano refuses to wingman for him, apparently sick of Mean Drunk Chuck, but whatever. It’s probably better that way, he figures, because Gargano has a tendency to steal his women, by... well, by being there. Being more likeable. It’s total bullshit.

He’s sure he’ll do better on his own, and he’s really feeling it tonight, wearing a t-shirt and jeans straight out of the dryer, like he’s ready for some fancy date, heading to his favorite dive.

There’s no way he’s not taking someone home. He’s certain of it, even after an hour passes and he’s four drinks and three rejections deep. He refuses to give up, lowering his standards again and scanning the bar for someone who fits them. It’s mostly guys at the bar, guys and girls who are getting chatted up by other guys, and then — he laughs a little — some weirdo at the end, wearing a mask, like some fucking— _Jesus_.

He storms over before can think better of it.

“The fuck are you doing here?” he asks. Fire shrugs and grunts.

“It’s a public place.”

“You’ve _never_ been here before,” Chuck insists.

“So what,” Fire says evenly, and Chuck doesn’t know what to say to that.

He kind of wants to just leave, figuring this place has gotten lame as fuck if Fire’s going there, but… There _is_ a group of girls at the bar right next to him, and there _is_ an empty seat between them and Fire, so Chuck doesn’t really have a choice but to slide into it, propping his elbows up on the bar, taking up a ton of room and accidentally-on-purpose nudging the girl closest to him. He apologizes and then ropes her into a conversation over it, and she doesn’t instantly turn her back to him. It’s the best luck he’s had all night.

She doesn’t seem to give a shit about wrestling, but that’s fine, because he doesn’t give a shit about loss adjustment, or whatever the hell she said she does for a living. He’s interested in her tits, and she’s interested in his biceps, and that’s more than enough. They’re a match made in heaven.

It’s a done deal, he’s sure, and he can’t help but smile to himself when she excuses herself to the bathroom after a while, looking around excitedly and then being a little surprised to see that Fire is still there.

“Oh. Hey,” Chuck says. “Hey,” he repeats, quieter, leaning in. “You think I got a chance?” he asks, gesturing to the empty seat next to him.

“Yes,” Fire says, and Chuck actually grins. “You’re both trash,” he explains, and Chuck’s confident in assuming he’s rolling his eyes under his mask as he sips his wine, snooty.

“Aww, you jealous?” he asks, smiling in the most condescending way he can manage.

“ _What_ ,” Fire spits, “no. Why would I be jealous of her? You’re such an idiot. Why would you even say that,” he goes on, the most Chuck’s ever heard him talk at once. “What a stupid—”

“Alright, geez,” Chuck cuts him off, lifting his hands defensively. “And I meant of _me_. Weirdo.” Fire’s quiet for a few seconds after that, the line of his mouth flat.

“Whatever,” he finally mutters, pulling his mask down farther. “Shut up.”

Chuck shakes his head, and then the girl’s back so he’s gotta plaster on a charming smile and act like they’re not seated next to a total freak. She wants another drink, which is fair — she seems only respectably buzzed, and he personally wouldn’t go home with himself unless he was blacked out. He nods and walks to the other side of the bar, because the bartender’s there and he doesn’t want her to hear him ordering a much cheaper version of whatever she asked for.

He ambles back with her shitty drink in hand, and… she’s gone. Just two empty seats and Fire Ant. He’s looking off, like he doesn’t even remember Chuck was there with him a minute ago, like he doesn’t even see him when he walks back into his space.

“Hey, what the fuck,” Chuck says. Fire grunts, looking over at him for a second before turning away again. “What happened to the girl?”

“I don’t know,” Fire snaps. “She got sick of you.” He turns fully towards Chuck then and snatches the drink out of his hand, Chuck too confused to stop him. “Douchebag.”

It’s fucked up. Chuck gets turned down a lot — despite being super handsome and incredibly charming — but never so abruptly. Maybe he should’ve pretended to be more interested in whatever she was talking about. Maybe she saw the bartender pour Svedka into her drink when Chuck told her he’d get her Grey Goose. That routine’s been good for years.

He spends too long worrying about it, the crowd dwindling and Chuck not in the right mindset to put the moves on someone new. He has a tendency, when he’s this drunk, to just insult whoever he’s trying to bang, and he’s really not in the mood to get a drink thrown in his face.

Fire Ant’s still there, though. Chuck doesn’t know. There’s no way he’d go for it again, but. He’s there.

“Hey,” Chuck says, leaning into his space. He pitches his voice low and slings an arm across his shoulders. “You wanna—”

“Okay,” Fire says simply, downing the rest of his stolen drink and pulling Chuck towards the door instantly.

“Damn, you’re easy,” Chuck says, once they’re outside, too drunk to stop himself. Fire doesn’t respond, luckily, just leading him through the streets with a hand tight on his wrist. 

The walk blurs for Chuck, letting Fire tug him along until they’re at some door, walking up the front steps.

“Where are we?” he finally thinks to ask.

“Apartment.”

“Ohhh shit, it's _The Hill_ ,” Chuck says, extra obnoxious. “What's up, the other ants out collecting leaves or something? Get caught under a magnifying glass?”

“They're asleep.”

…So they're home. And Fire took him there. It’s weird. It’s definitely weird, but he’s starting to realize everything about Fire is weird, and that maybe it’s a waste of time to try to understand anything he does.

Still, Chuck briefly considers asking him if they can just go back to the bar and fool around in a toilet stall again. Or an alley, or really anywhere but here. The moment passes, and then Fire's pulling him through the doorway, dragging him by his wrist through the living room and down the hallway and into his room.

He shuts the door by slamming Chuck up against it, and Chuck’s still a little wide-eyed and slack-mouthed when Fire leans in and presses their lips together. Chuck wants to shove him away instantly, but Fire’s got a firm hand on his jaw, and the guy’s fucking strong when he wants to be, and well, it is a good kiss.

So Chuck melts into it, groaning and grabbing Fire’s ass through his ridiculous skinny jeans, and then Fire’s breaking off to pull him towards the bed, shoving him down on his back. Chuck barely has time to kick his shoes off before Fire’s crawling onto his lap, pulling both their shirts off frantically. Chuck reaches out mindlessly and runs his hands down Fire’s abs, muttering _nice_ under his breath and feeling the muscles tense a little. Then Fire’s pushing his hands away to wrestle off the rest of their clothes, and it doesn’t occur to Chuck how weird it is to be naked in Fire Ant’s bed until he’s already there.

He doesn’t get a chance to think too hard about it, at least, because Fire leans over and grabs a little bottle from his nightstand, popping the cap and slicking up his fingers, and then Chuck’s feeling awkward for a whole different reason.

He’s never done… that. But he guesses he doesn’t really have to _do_ anything, because Fire’s reaching behind his back and twitching, getting a finger inside himself.

He’s awkward about it, jerky and stilted. Chuck would think he’d never done it before if he wasn’t so obviously hot for it. He probably just can’t get the right angle, Chuck figures.

“Here, lemme,” he tells Fire, batting his hand away and sliding one of his own fingers in. He wishes he could see his eyes, so he could tell if he’s doing this right or if it’s hurting him.

Then he remembers he doesn’t give a shit about hurting Fire Ant, and it suddenly seems a lot simpler. He shoves another finger in and pushes hard, Fire choking on a gasp and falling forward as Chuck fucks his fingers in, rough and probably not slick enough. Chuck can tell he’s gritting his teeth, jaw tense, and he smirks up at him.

“Yeah, you like that?”

Fire whines and nods. Ugh. Chuck keeps thrusting harder, trying with all his might to be a jerk, but Fire never complains or pleads for him to stop, just keeps gasping and rocking his hips into the movement.

Fire does shove his hand away eventually, and Chuck grins, thinking he’s had enough, but Fire just leans forward and sinks down onto Chuck’s dick instead.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Chuck groans, hands clenching on Fire’s hips. “That’s— you’re so fucking— _ugh_.” He cuts himself off before he can go into rambling dirty talk mode, not wanting Fire to know just how much he’s blowing his mind right now.

But Fire rolls his hips down smoothly and Chuck can’t help it, throwing his head back and gasping _shit_ too loud. Way too loud, he realizes, remembering there’s some Colony member on the other side of the goddamn wall.

He bites his lip as Fire picks up the pace, then covers his mouth when he realizes that’s not gonna be enough. Fire grabs his hand instantly, whipping it away and pinning it down to the bed, moving his hips faster so Chuck’s too braindead to do anything about it.

“They’re gonna hear— ah _shit_ ,” he hisses, Fire leaning down to sink his teeth into his neck and cut him off.

Maybe it’s fine, maybe they’ve got super thick walls. Or maybe Fire just doesn’t care. Chuck doesn’t know. He doesn’t have the intelligence or the energy to decode the way Fire acts, even when the guy’s not actively riding his cock. And anyway, he comforts himself, it’s probably Fire who’s gonna catch the blunt of the flak for having loud sex in a shared apartment.

So he just gives in, forgetting all that shit and letting himself enjoy what’s probably the best fuck he’s ever had, while not letting himself reflect too much on that fact. Even his crazy, obsessive biting feels good, although Chuck’s brain works just enough for him to realize he can’t keep letting Fire mark him up like this.

“Hey, wait— _fuck_ ,” he protests, “c’mon, last hickey you left just faded.” Fire growls against his skin, mauling him for another second before pulling back.

“Do it to me,” he says, and Chuck stares at him blankly. “Bite me.” He makes it sound so weird, so _serious_ , but Chuck does what he says anyway, biting gingerly into the skin between his shoulder and neck. “Higher,” Fire insists, and when Chuck moves his mouth up, “harder.”

“Fuckin’ bossy,” Chuck grumbles, digging his teeth in, anyway, just to shut him up. He doesn’t need instructions on how to fuck.

Fire's fingers tangle in his hair, a broken moan coming out of his throat, and Chuck can't shake the feeling he's crossing some line, that this has some meaning he's not aware of. Are hickeys like a marriage proposal in ant culture?

But it’s got Fire making all these crazy noises, getting a hand on himself and speeding up, moving frantically, and Chuck can’t even bring himself to care about what the fuck he’s doing, if it feels this good.

“Fuck, I’m close,” he says, helpless.

“Inside.”

“Wh,” Chuck gasps, brain offline, “what.”

“Come inside me.”

“You— I don’t—” but Fire’s sinking down against him, and whatever he’s trying to say turns into a muddled groan.

It’s not like he was _planning_ on pulling out. He was gonna shoot off inside Fire and then Fire was gonna get mad about it and tell him he’s disgusting and then kick him out of his room and Chuck was gonna go home smug about it. But now Fire’s asking for it, and it feels like something he shouldn’t do.

He can’t really do anything about it, though, sparks climbing up his spine until they’re all crashing through him, and then he’s coming inside Fire, just like Fire wanted. Chuck grunts stupidly and grips his hips, tight enough to leave bruises, and the thought pops into his head that Fire would probably like that.

 _It’s not a big deal_ , he tells himself. It’s not like Fire can get pregnant. It’s _not_ a big deal, even though Fire’s moaning and clutching his shoulders like it’s the biggest fucking deal in the world.

It’s barely another minute before Fire’s there too, letting out this frayed little high-pitched noise Chuck would probably call _pretty_ if it were coming out of anyone else. He wants to be grossed out at having Fire’s jizz all over his stomach, especially when he slumps against him and their whole bodies are pressed together, but his dumb dick-controlled brain doesn’t really get that memo.

Fire stays like that for a while, chest heaving against his and still rolling his hips, too, until Chuck’s so sensitive he’s wincing but too weak to push him away effectively, forced to put up with it until Fire finally decides to pull away from him.

He feels frazzled and worn out, even though Fire did most of the work. By the time his head’s back in one piece, Fire’s wrapped tight around him, one leg snaked between Chuck’s, his arm across his shoulders, face — still wearing a mask, fucking weirdo — tucked against his neck.

He could be asleep already. Chuck honestly can’t tell. He lifts a hand tentatively, aiming to pry Fire’s arm off of him, but then he feels nails digging deep into his shoulder.

“Uh, I gotta— _ow_ ,” he stammers, Fire’s nails digging deeper, actually starting to hurt.

“Stay.”

“You want _me_ to stay?” he laughs, a little hysterical. Fire’s nails finally let up and Chuck figures he’s coming to himself, about to kick him out — extra angrily, probably, to cover up how embarrassed he is for these few seconds of insanity. Instead, he bites Chuck’s other shoulder. “Jesus, okay, whatever. Stop fuckin’— mangling me.”

There’s no way he’s actually staying there, ready to make his escape the second Fire’s knocked out. But every few minutes, when he’s _sure_ Fire must be asleep, he moves to get up and then there are nails or teeth or both digging into his skin. He sighs, resigned, trying instead to think up some way to bother Fire enough to get kicked out.

“So, what, you’re gonna sleep in a mask?” he asks, nudging Fire roughly and getting a questioning hum in response. “I mean, leave it, I don’t wanna know what’s under there. But you don’t have those big, fucked up bug eyes, right?” Fire hums with a confirming tone this time. “No? What about the antennae — those real?” Fire hums again. “No? _Neither?_ Y’know, I’m starting to think this whole ant thing is bullshit. You’re just a normal fuckin’ human guy — disappointing, honestly. Think of all those kids who look up to you, and you’re just out here with regular eyes, no antennae—”

Fire shakes lightly against him and it takes Chuck a full minute to process the fact that he’s laughing — fucking _giggling_. He’s never heard Fire do that before. He didn’t even think he was physically capable of making that sound. Chuck’s almost proud of himself for a second until it strikes him just how fucking bizarre this is, and then he just feels something like regret. Maybe dread.

He _can’t_ afford to freak out, he won’t allow it. There’s not room in his head for more regrets, but God, he’s in Fire Ant’s bed, in the Colony’s apartment, Fire cuddled up to him and giggling against his shoulder while the rest of them sleep a couple walls away. Coming here to fuck was one thing, but sleeping here? Waking up here? Walking out of his room in the morning to face the rest of the Colony during their breakfast of soy paste or whatever the fuck they eat? This is easily one of the worst things his dick’s ever done to him.

His eyes dart around the room, looking for... he doesn’t know what. Something embarrassing, maybe, and then he could salvage all this as a tactical thing, a mean thing. Could tell himself he was just getting dirt on Fire.

But his room is clean like only a neurotic, tight-laced tecnico’s could be. He’s got a book on his nightstand, deodorant and a little plant on his dresser. Normal people stuff. All that’s out of place is a shirt crumpled up on a chair — something white, with a red and blue design. Looks like a beer logo, which _is_ kinda funny, almost like a PBR— _oh_ —

“Shit.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://jcryder.tumblr.com/)


End file.
